Broken Angel
by Tomo Potter
Summary: Draco is left cursed after the Death Eaters have their wicked way with him, enslaved to Ron Weasley, with only one way out of it for either of them, and that's something they really don't want... or do they? DMRW, rape, HC, violence.


A/N: Ron/Draco is a poor, overlooked baby that just needs to be loved. Those two work unbelievably well together... It's like the Bill Weasley to Harry/Draco's Ron Weasley. Cooler and way more mature. I will never ever stop loving Drarry, but Ron/Draco is just... perfection personified.

Disclaimer: I'm not a genius. I own nothing but the way I put together the words I choose to use. Heh.

WARNING: This is a pretty heavy M, with implied rape, violence, sadism (though there aint no masochist there...), Hurt/Comfort (H/C), Swearing, incest, and some other good stuff. Oh, and AU, since this is set after 6th year but Dumbles is alive ect.

This'll be a three-parter, with no sequel or anything. Sort of a 'summer' project. In Autumn/Winter. Rofl.

**Broken Angel - Rape Me**

Draco Malfoy always looked forwards to summer. He got away from those idiotic classmates of his to somewhere he could relax and really enjoy himself. This year, however, was his last summer at home. Next year was his seventh and last, and after that he would be expected to find a job and a flat, though of course he would inherit the family home before too long... It was only a matter of time until his father's reckless behaviour became too reckless, and he was captured or killed.

Draco was so wrapped up in his thoughts of himself as head of the family, that he didn't notice the twists and turns of the road he and his father were being chauffeured on until he was well away from anything he recognised.

Draco looked out the window, wide-eyed. "Where are we going, father?"

"Somewhere new. The Dark Lord has need of you." Lucius said emotionlessly. For the first time, Draco noticed the tip of a tattoo on his father's arm, and it wasn't the Dark Mark. It looked similar, but different, and instead of giving out the air of power the Dark Mark did, this marking gave only an air of submission and weary obedience.

"Father?" Draco asked after a minute of silence. "What is that tattoo? It is not your Mark..."

Lucius sighed, and for the first time ever, Draco saw his father, not as an all-powerful bloodthirsty billionaire, but as a weak, defeated man.

"This is a new mark of the Dark Lord's, and something that soon you too will be submitted to. It's passing to you represents my release from it."

Draco blinked, confused and upset. "Is it like the Dark Mark?" He asked, subconsciously scratching the still raw skin where the Mark of the Dark Lord Voldemort was forever imprinted on his skin last summer.

"No, son. Something much more powerful. Once passed to you, I will be free from it, and will even have power to take advantage of it..." Lucius' face turned into something like a smirk, and he seemed to gain some of the old superiority.

Draco was only more confused by this cryptic passing of words, and the back seat fell back into silence, the only noise that of the car driving sleekly across the now completely unrecognisable countryside.

Presently, the car stopped and Lucius and Draco disembarked. Draco was going to get his things, but his father stopped him. "Leave them, they will be delivered to the manor in all due time." This relieved Draco, so he would get to go home!

Lucius led him up a hill to a small cottage, and pressed a knot in the wood beside the doorbell. The door sprang open, and Lucius pushed Draco gently inside, the door shutting eerily behind them and plunging the house into total darkness.

Draco was starting to get nervous, looking around in hope of seeing someone but Lucius just stood calmly behind him, holding tersely onto Draco's shoulders.

Just as Draco opened his mouth to ask his father what was going on, a candle flickered into life inches from Draco's face. He started, almost head-butting his father in the face, as the face of Lord Voldemort appeared behind it.

"I have brought the boy as you ordered, my lord." Lucius said reverently, and dropped to his knee in a low bow. Draco, feeling somewhat ridiculous, didn't know whether or not to copy. He was relieved with his decision to stand though, when the Dark Lord started circling him with the candle, nodding approvingly.

"Yes... yes... he's perfect. Young, fit, untouched..." At the last word, Voldemort ran a long finger down the side of Draco's face, and he had to repress a shudder; the finger was cold and clammy as though dead. Luckily for him, though, Voldemort stepped back to survey him from a distance. "Yes Lucius, your son will do nicely. Come here." Lucius Malfoy got to his feet and stepped obediently over to the Dark Lord, holding out the tattooed arm as though instructed. Voldemort smirked, and pushed up the sleeve to reveal a tribal-looking tattoo with small inscriptions all over it. The Dark Lord held his candle over it and tipped, pouring hot wax, which, Draco noticed with horror, ran to fit the shape of the tattoo exactly, and then ignited. Lucius, to Draco's surprise, first moaned in pleasure, then screamed in pain when the fire vanished. Carefully, Voldemort pulled the wax off in two large pieces, and, to Draco's greater surprise, the tattoo appeared to come off with it. Lucius collapsed to the floor, shaking with pain, and Voldemort paid him no further attention. Instead, he took Draco's Dark Mark arm and wrapped the wax around it carefully. Although Draco was much slimmer and more elfin than his father, the wax seemed to fit perfectly, and it stayed there, as though clamped to his skin. Voldemort muttered a word or two, and sparks ignited on the wax, before it caught fire completely. Draco groaned loudly; the fire was not painful, it was instead sending gentle pleasurable sparks all around his body, coating him in a shell of pleasure, filling him completely with it. And then all the sparks burrowed into his skin at once and Draco screamed; the shell was still present, but it couldn't make the agony easier as the sparks made their way right through his body where they grouped at his wrist, and then the fire was gone, and the wax shattered, leaving the tattoo burning brightly on Draco's skin. He fell to the floor, shuddering and heaving; never had he experienced such complete pain, not even under the influence of Crucio. It was utter, sheer hell. Voldemort laughed, and Draco felt his father's trembling hands lifting him to his feet, and the shell of pleasure stroking, soothing, reassuring. It was like a skin of massage, something that knew how to make him feel perfect and clear away the pain, though it was only skin deep.

Voldemort smiled, stroking Draco's skin again. "Excellent. Let me just test it... Colligo!" The tattoo ignited again, and the shell moved in instantly, to fill Draco with blank, peaceful, happiness. He could tell something was going to be wrong soon though; the shell seemed almost... afraid, as though it were an intelligent creature.

And then, Draco was horribly, terribly aware of something else. Voldemort's TONGUE in his MOUTH. He wanted to spring back in horror, to push the Dark Lord and hit him, to run away from that terrible, spine-chilling clammy mouth clamped firmly onto his own, but he couldn't move. He just stood there perfectly still, while his mouth was invaded brutally by Voldemort's tongue.

"Excellent." Voldemort said. Draco's mouth was free now, and he managed to close it. It seemed he could move now. "He will have full control of his body, unless I touch him, in which case he is a puppet, until such time as I decide to... claim him. The pleasure shell will be there to assist the first few times, just as it was for you, Lucius."

"Very good sir. May I leave now?" Lucius asked... meekly?

"Yes. I will be holding a celebration soon, once I have tested him out, and I'll share my new toy around." Voldemort laughed, and Lucius chuckled weakly.

"Yes master. Well... good day. Farewell, Draco." Lucius practically ran out of the room, leaving an extremely nervous Draco alone with Voldemort.

"Now, Draco. Let's have more light, shall we?" Voldemort waved his hand, and torches all round the room ignited. Draco gasped. Lining the walls and floor were all sorts of whips and torture devices, some Draco didn't recognise.

"Like it?" Voldemort asked seductively. "You will have the opportunity to test several of these, over the beginning of the holiday, though towards the end I will have to be more gentle, we don't want Dumbledore to find out, now do we?" Voldie smiled in mock kindness, and Draco found himself nodding, no matter how hard he fought it.

"Good. You are nice and obedient, as would be expected. You are free to do as you will, unless it displeases me, until the spell is broken, at which point it will be recast."

Draco blinked. What the hell was going on? He opened his mouth to ask, but what escaped was; "Yes master. Thank you master."

"Excellent, Draco. Feel free now to select a whip."

Select a whip? Draco was lost, but his body found itself complying, walking to the wall, taking a flogger that looked gentler than the various other bullwhips that graced that area, and bringing it to the Dark Lord.

Voldemort took up the flogger, looking it over carefully. "Ah yes. A fine choice, for your first time. We wouldn't want to break you... yet." Voldemort smirked. "Now remove your clothes, and lie down over there." Voldemort pointed to the woollen rug, the only carpeting on the otherwise bare stone floor.

Draco, though his mind screamed no, and his heart realised exactly what was happening, found his body obeying, emotionlessly shedding every article of clothing on his body and lying neatly on his stomach, his body at least taking heed of some of his impulses to cover himself.

"Excellent, excellent." Voldemort smiled, walking over, stroking the fine horsehair strands of the flogger almost pensively, as though reliving some happy memory. Then, almost faster than Draco could see, he brought his hand up and flicked the whip down, where it lashed against Draco's bare skin. Draco cried out, though the pleasure shell ensured that it was in joy, not pain. The hairs came down again and again, and Draco was tingling and trembling all over. Finally Voldemort stepped back, looking at his work approvingly. Twisting around to see, Draco realised that his skin was red all over in tiny stripes, and some that had been hit more than once were almost bleeding. He winced slightly seeing them, even though he felt nothing but a happy tingle from that area. Voldemort, meanwhile, crossed to the wall and replaced his whip, looking pensively at Draco.

"Get up on all fours and brace yourself." He commanded, unbuttoning his trousers.

That night was the night Draco lost his innocence, through tears of shame and droplets of his own blood.

000

A week passed, or maybe more, the days were blurred together for Draco in a storm of rape, beating, and quiet, pensive suspense. After the first four or five times, it had started hurting, and now being thrust into unprepared and unlubricated was sheer agony. Draco came to dread each visit, almost as much as he dreaded the revel apparently being planned that week. From what he had gathered, and what Voldemort had let slip, all the Death Eaters were coming around to have a go with him, and Draco was dreading this with every inch of his being, because from the taunts Voldemort dropped, he had figured that both his father and his godfather, Severus, were coming to have a go with the pretty little thing, though Severus was always kind, maybe he would be spared from -that- humiliation, though Draco was beginning to have doubts.

The evening in question came, Draco chained up unslaved in the corner. All the Death Eaters stood around in their fancy masks and robes, talking and laughing haughtily, as though they were not capable of the acts they all knew were coming. A few people came to inspect Draco, some even fed him. Food had been scarce, and he swallowed everything he was given, until a sight befell him that churned every inch of his stomach.

"Yes, he is quite a specimen, a fine example of what a young man should be." Came a drawl Draco could only recognise as his potions master and godfather, Severus Snape. Next to him was a fully robed man, though he was horribly recognisable; the long blonde locks hanging out of his hood could only belong to one Death Eater, Lucius Malfoy.

"Indeed." Lucius smirked. "After playing that role for some time, it is refreshing to have a turn on this end." He and Snape both chuckled, and strolled away.

That night was a night of pure mortification for Draco, staying stock still as he was taken repeatedly by many men and even one or two women, several of whom he recognised as friends of the family, people he had known since infanthood. It was the worst night of his life, leaving him curled up naked and crying, covered in the seed of many people he had known, and few he had loved.

000

There was no escape.

This had been Draco's final verdict, when he noticed the window. It was high, almost to high to reach, and only just large enough to squeeze though, but Draco was even skinnier than usual, and he knew he would fit. The only problems were the chain around his neck, and his lack of clothes or a wand. He lay locked in the room he had first been brought to, looking dejectedly from the torture equipment to the window, to his chain, and back to the torture things. From time to time Voldemort visited, but Draco simply shut down his mind, and was practically passed out the whole time. Not that that made it better, he still woke up sprawled on the floor covered in blood, seed, and whip marks. Until one time. Voldemort was careless.

As usual, he left Draco passed out on the floor, though this was different. Voldemort had been called away on urgent matters; apparently one of his Death Eaters was being captured by the ministry, and needed assistance. The one thing that differed this from all the other times for Draco, for Voldemort had been sure to let him free for some reason beforehand, was the fact that he remained unchained. He had tried to apparate many times, but it quickly became obvious that this was a no-fly zone. Now though... he was free to climb out the window.

Forming a pile of various bulky paddles, and a chair, Draco was able to reach the window. It was of course locked, but he simply smashed the glass with a fist and crawled out. The scratches made little difference to his beaten and abused body, and he was able to drop down on the other side.

Draco hardly dared believe he was outside. The night air was sweeter than ever, and the grass was refreshingly cool beneath his sore toes. Trembling, he ran as far away as he could bear, trying to make sure he would be able to apparate. He only stopped when he reached the edge of a woods, and then turned, hearing the whip-crack followed by the rushing of air that meant he was travelling easily towards his destination. Draco allowed himself to be taken, stopping at the only place he knew he could find help. Hogwarts wasn't safe; Severus was there. His house was stupid, as were any of his friends houses, and he didn't know where anyone else lived. This was Draco's last hope. Grabbing a grey cloak from the washing machine, Draco tugged it around his shoulders with one hand, knocking weakly with the other. At the sound of people shifting, he went limp with relief. _'I'm safe.'_ He thought, before collapsing limply on the ground.

000

Ron looked up from his quidditch magazine at the sound of the door knocking. Predictably, a few moments later came his mother's harried voice from the kitchen.

"Ron! Get the door!" Sighing, the youngest of the Weasley boys set his magazine aside and heaved to his feet, strolling to the door and opening it. He was expecting it to be Hermione or someone, she had said she would visit soon. What he didn't expect to see was Draco Malfoy collapsed on the dewy ground, naked, bleeding, and wrapped in his spare cloak.

"Malfoy?" He said incredulously, nudging the boy with a slipper-shod toe. At this Draco jerked up, looking about him wildly. He nearly collapsed again with relief upon seeing Ron.

"Weasley... Ron... thank god. I need help..." He gasped, realising his voice was thin and tinny with lack of water, and lack of use.

Ron looked worriedly at him now, bending down to help Draco to his feet. "Well that much is bloody obvious... come on, we've gotta get you cleaned up." Ron pulled him up, holding the fragile boy in place with both arms. Together, with Ron holding him up, and Draco working his legs, they got him inside.

"Mum!" Ron called, setting Draco down on the couch, but there was no reply. "Oh shit... MUM?" Groaning, Ron grabbed the first-aid kit and picked up his wand from the coffee table, slightly startled when Draco looked at it in envy. Nonetheless, he flicked through the book. "Okay, I'll have a go at healing you then, I've seen mum do it a million times." Ron said, voice shaking slightly. This was all too strange... but Malfoy needed help, and there was nobody else to give it to him. "Those are just cuts, right? Where do you have them? Who did this to you?"

"They're right over me, though mostly on my back." Draco blushed, voice coming out as a harsh whisper now. Apparently he had almost nothing left in him.

"Okay..." Ron seemed satisfied with this, and raised his wand, muttering a healing spell. Draco relaxed as he felt his wounds knit, one by one, until all that was left was the pleasant tingling. He had almost forgotten about that, and it made him smile slightly, eyes closed.

"This one here is a bit deeper." Ron pointed to a slash on his arm that wasn't healing, holding a wizarding bandage in the other hand. "I'm gonna have to bandage it. You okay?" He looked at Draco concernedly, but the boy nodded weakly, eyes wrenched open.

"Don't worry." Ron added soothingly. "You can rest soon, I just have to finish healing you." He attached the bandage carefully, and muttered the attaching spell... "Colligo!"

To his abject horror, Draco sat straight upright, staring at him in shock.

"YOU TOO?" He screamed, cowering away at once. When Ron reached out to touch his arm comfortingly, Draco flinched away, falling off the sofa. "No... no... not again." He muttered, curled up, rocking.

"What is it, Malfoy? Ron asked. He was really worried now, and didn't try to touch Draco again. "All I did was attach the bandage."

But Draco was gone, cradling himself in shame, tears falling thickly on the cloak covering his dirty skin.

000

After achieving no results in counselling the poor blonde, Ron put Draco into the spare bed in his room. Molly had returned from cautioning Fred and George about teasing their sister, to see Ron desperately attempting to comfort a boy she recognised as Draco Malfoy. After the initial shock, Ron had calmed her down enough to explain what happened, and she insisted he stay in Ron's room after hearing the state of the boy when he arrived. And so, Draco drifted off fearfully in the most comfortable bed he had so much as laid eyes on in weeks, Ron sitting restlessly on his own bed nearby.

000

Draco's eyes flashed open. This was... wrong. He hadn't had a bed for ages... what was he doing in one? And why was everything orange? Sitting up to see if this was another trick of Voldemort's to break him further, Draco realised that all his wounds were healed, and there was a dressing on one of his arms, sealed there tightly. His tattoo was still present though, and he felt the tingling that meant his master was yet to give him commands. The intelligent, proud side of Draco, or what was left of it anyway, struggled vainly against the meek, submissive side provided by the slavery charm, though it was no match, tired and underfed as it was. So Draco sat there, waiting for someone to tell him what to do, gentle tears making their way down his clean cheeks.

Ron woke up to a strange sight. Draco Malfoy was sitting bolt upright in the spare bed, tears running down his face. Ron almost yelled, before the events of last night came back to him. "Malfoy? Draco?" He asked tentatively.

Draco turned to face him, face impassive, though his silver eyes were clearly in turmoil. "What is it master?

"Um... are you okay?" Ron looked at Draco as though he were crazy, which to Ron's eyes he was.

"Yes master, you are too kind to Draco." He smiled, a meaningless tweak of the lips.

"What the hell is wrong with you? No insults about my hair or family?" He eyed Draco suspiciously, and the boy smiled further.

"Draco would never dare insult the master. No, the master is really too kind to Draco."

"The master? Do you mean me?" Ron said incredulously.

"Yes, master. Would sir prefer a different title? Draco only knows master otherwise as..." Draco appeared to be trying to remember something. "Weasel? Does master wish to be called Weasel?"

Ron shook his head. "What the bloody hell is wrong with you? You sure as hell know my name's Ron Weasley, what's gotten into you?"

Draco nodded. "Ron Weasley. Draco awaits further commands from Ron Weasley."

"What? Look, I don't care. Do whatever the hell you want." Ron said gruffly, getting up and picking some clothes off the floor, as he was dressed only in boxers. "I'm not gonna play your stupid games Malfoy. You can borrow some clothes, and mum'll have breakfast ready soon."

Draco nodded. "Draco understands." He closed his eyes, the submissive side dying down as his master left. Sighing, Draco flopped face-first into the blankets, just breathing gently for a minute. When he felt he had better control of himself he got up, picking around Weasley's clothes to find the most bearable. He settled on a semi-clean white shirt with a black dragon on it, and simple light grey pants. They had a patch behind the knee but that didn't matter, they were comfortable, and the shirt seemed almost new. Dressed, Draco fixed his hair quickly, though it made little difference to locks unbrushed for weeks. Satisfied that he looked at least human, Draco left the room, relieved at the fact that the rest of the Burrow - _For this must be the Burrow_, He realised - wasn't as orange as Wea... Ron's room. Draco supposed that he might as well call him Ron, since saying Weasley would just get him the entire flock, and that was something he couldn't bear.

"There you are." Came a voice from around one of the many twists of the house, and Ron stepped out from behind a corner. He was dressed in a basic black shirt with an orange logo on it... Chudley Cannons, Draco realised, and black pants. "Come on, breakfast's downstairs. If we go now, the others won't be up until we're almost finished.

Draco nodded, once again focusing on fighting the submissive side. He had never had the bond this strong before, and it was confusing him. Was there something about Weasley that made it stronger? He mentally shook himself, returning to reality.

"Well come on Ron, I can't wait all day." Draco tapped his foot, and Ron to his surprise smiled.

"That's the Malfoy we all know and hate, but what happened to Weasley? Not that I mind, just never thought you'd stoop to my first name."

"If I call you Weasley here, I'll be mobbed. How many of you are there anyway?"

"Well, there's mum and dad, then Fred, George, Percy, Bill, Charlie, Ginny, and me." Ron replied cheerfully. "But Charlie's in Romania visiting his dragons, and Bill and his fiancée are at their house." Ron sighed. "And Percy's a bastard, so it's just me, Ginny, the twins, mum and dad. Still more orange than you can stand?"

Draco shrugged. "Well I've had more than enough of the other colours lately." And then he closed his mouth, because remembering was too painful, and Ron thankfully didn't push the issue.

"How come you came here, anyway? Why not go home?" Ron asked instead as they descended the eternal stairs together.

"Can't go home, or to school. Isn't safe for me there. You're the only person I know I can trust anymore, besides Potter and Granger, but I don't know where they live." He sighed weakly. "Sounds uncharacteristic, but there you go."

"Okay." Ron nodded. "We can talk about things properly after breakfast."

000

Breakfast seemed to Ron a fairly average Weasley meal, on the tame side, though to Draco it was utter insanity of the most unbearable kind. No sooner had he and Ron sat down to the table mountained with food, than two more redheads slid down the stairs, grinning broadly, though those grins froze on their faces as they saw Draco sitting next to Ron. Then one of them burst into laughter.

"George, Ron's finally found himself a boyfriend!" Fred snickered, his twin laughing with him. Ron glared at them.

"Shut it, Fred. Draco's just in a bit of trouble."

"Ooo, Draco is it now? Things must be serious!" George sighed happily, his brother clutching him for support through his spasms of laughter.

"He came here for help, can't you stop teasing him?" Ron said exasperatedly. Draco stared at his knees, blushing at the fact that his master saw fit to defend him.

"It's okay Ron, I don't care." Draco told his knees, prompting a heap of catcalls and whoops from the twins. Ignoring them, Draco smiled weakly at Ron, who smiled back. The twins sat down, still jeering and making lewd comments. Before long Ginny showed up dressed only in a towel, screaming loudly at the sight of Draco and running for it. She returned ten minutes later, flaming red and dressed in a short blue sundress. By then, Mrs. Weasley had finished cooking, and the twins and Ron were eating with gusto, while Draco nibbled a piece of toast. He didn't want to overload his starved digestive system.

"You okay?" Ron asked Draco concernedly, looking up from his loaded plate.

Draco nodded. "Haven't eaten in a while is all, don't want to overdo it."

"Ah." Ron nodded. "Well I'm almost done, then we can talk."

A/N: Long chapter ate my soul... -dies- from the party on was written in one night... after a month of dithering and putting it off lmao. Next update will be quicker hopefully :) REVIEW!


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